Girl Trouble
by dinosaur-pirate
Summary: UPDATED! Based off of the hit television show “Doug”, Doug decides what to do about his problems with Patti. The exciting conclusion. Part 3 of 3.
1. Default Chapter

Doug and Skeeter were sitting across from each other in the local restaurant, silently drinking their milkshakes. Skeeter watched in horror as a trail of cold milk and ice cream made its way down Doug's chin, finally dropping down to form a thick puddle in the middle of the table.

"Honk Honk!" said Skeeter, "There's something dribbling down your chin, man!"

"I know", replied Doug, morosely staring just to the left of Skeeter's head, "It was an experiment. To see if anyone would notice. To see if anyone would notice me." 'And my problems', Doug wanted to add, but he didn't. He hadn't been adding a lot of stuff, lately – his thoughts were just too dangerous, he felt.

"Is something wrong?" Skeeter asked, because he knew that Doug wouldn't tell him otherwise.

Doug didn't say anything; he just inspected the wall behind Skeeter's head, counting the light fixtures and the happy people that they reflected onto the walls. There were 5 light fixtures and 17 smiling people. The numbers didn't make any sense to Doug, so he abandoned them. He had hoped to find meaning in his counting, but he had not, so instead he picked up a napkin and solemnly wiped the milkshake from his face.

"It's Patti," he finally answered with a sigh, "I just don't think that I'll ever have a chance with her."

"Hey, whoa! That's not true, Doug - you're a great guy! I'm sure that Patti would love to go out with you! You just worry too much, that's all, Honk Honk!"

"No, no, it's more then that", he replied, and as he said this he balanced his milkshake closer and closer to the edge of the table, "Even if she did want to go out with me, I wouldn't know what to do with her. Face it, Skeeter, I'm clueless around women." On his final thought he poured what remained of his milkshake into his lap, staring at the lumpy white sludge absorbing into his trademark tan pants while Skeeter thought of a solution.

"Hey! I know! We can go visit my cousin Deeter! He gets all the ladies! I bet that he could help you with your problem! C'mon, let's go, he's probably home right now!"

"Alright, if you think that it will help", Doug said, standing up. The milky waste on his pants dripped to the floor.

They were standing on the raised porch of a single-story house from the seventies, its squat figure built up of monotone brown brick and cheap poured cement. A car that could've been as old as the house was sitting in the driveway, slowly disintegrating towards the ground. Doug couldn't tell its make, but he suspected that it hadn't really been made by anyone, that it was just a collection of car pieces placed together in simple homage to something that had once moved.

Deeter was home because he was always home, Doug reasoned, as the tall, angular body of Skeeter's cousin answered the door. He looked as if he had been wearing the same white shirt and jeans for weeks now, and he had an incredible stink that matched the sweat that stained his t-shirt. His eyes were obscured by giant sunglasses, and the rest of his facial features seemed to pull towards his sunken cheeks. Doug figured that he was a dealer, and the way that he swayed suspiciously in the doorway, staring straight over their heads while they waited for him to acknowledge their presence seemed to confirm this.

During this moment Doug wondered if what Skeeter had said about his cousin was true, if he really did get "all the ladies", and, if it was, how such a disgusting creature could manage to get any girls at all. Surely Doug was more appealing then what stood half-conscious in the doorway, and the thought that he wasn't made him want to hurl himself off the raised porch and impale his body on the little twigs of the dying bushes that lay below. He was just peering over the banister bordering the porch to see if this was possible when Skeeter spoke up, finally breaking the drug-addled silence.

"Hey, uh, Deeter? It's me, your cousin, Skeeter?"

Deeter ingested this new information slowly, taking time to snap out of whatever it was that he was in, before he finally snaked his head down towards Skeeter's, bringing his eyes in line with his.

"Oh, hey little man – when did you get here? You want to come inside? Maybe take me up on that offer I made you before?" he said, the words rolling casually off his thin tongue.

"Uh, no Deeter. I just wanted you to meet my friend Doug. I thought you might be able to give him some advice."

"What kind of advice?" said Deeter, suddenly cautious, intimidating, smoke pouring out from behind his sunglasses as he stared at the sad white kid who had invaded his front stoop. Doug slunk closer to the railing, amazed at the stoner's transformation.

"Well, Doug here, he's having troubles with the ladies, and I thought since you're always talking about how –"

"He needs help with ladies?" Deeter replied, suddenly softening, "Well, why didn't you say so? Come in, come in both of you! I have much to teach." Deeter was hurrying now, already far from view, and Doug and Skeeter followed behind, like pups, into his den.


	2. A Trip Beneath the Ground

Bits of food in the carpet. Doug wished that he hadn't taken his shoes off at the door, hadn't been punished so badly for being polite. The crumbs stuck to his socks and created an unpleasant crunch whenever he stepped forward.

Deeter's house smelled of rotting food, but it wasn't coming from one oppressive source, at least not as far as Doug could tell. Instead, the stink hit his nostrils from a thousand different directions, each strain aged differently and creating a veritable cornucopia of smell. No wonder Deeter himself smelled so bad, he couldn't tell over the odor of rotting food in the carpets.

His hollow face and withered body suggested that there was another reason that he had problems smelling, but Doug didn't want to think about that. Instead, he focused on the dust and the trash and the junk that was pilled up around him as if it were collectible items, wondering how someone could let himself and his home fall apart so completely. Wondering if he would do the same.

Skeeter was just as immersed in Deeter's world, and Deeter was talking to himself.

"Yeah...", he mumbled, leading them on a gradual trail towards his room, shuffling awkwardly and circling things that did not need to be circled, "I remember when I still had problems with girls... I was about your age, I think... I remember that I started to worry that I was a queer or something." He stopped now and looked at Doug with a solid stare and raised eyebrows. "Do you ever wonder if you're a queer, boy?"

Deeter's penetrating gaze made him nervous, and he turned to Skeeter for help.

Skeeter just looked away, ashamed.

The entire house was his, but Deeter slept in the basement. Heavy drapes were pulled across the windows, blocking out all of the natural light. There was a low table set up in the middle of the room, painted black and covered in mirrors and coke dust. Deeter sat by the table and measured out two lines.

"Sure you don't want one, little guy?", he said, meaning Skeeter, "I made this one especially for you. Your friend can have one too but he isn't family so he'll have to pay."

Skeeter shook his head, looking disgusted. "Naw man, I told you I'm not into any of that, and neither is Doug. We just came here for advice."

"Suit yourself", he replied, placing a roll of paper to his nostrils and inhaling deeply, "More for me". When he had finished he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes.

"What do you want to know?", he asked.

"Well – I.. guess just...", Doug trailed off, unsure of how to respond. "There's this girl, her name is Patti Mayonnaise. I've liked her for years. We're friends and everything, but I want to know how to make it so we're... more then friends."

It didn't take Deeter long to respond with an answer: "I've got exactly what you need", he said. He got up and began hunting through a set of drawers in the corner of the room. Doug wondered what he was looking for, knowing for certain that it could not be cologne, not coming from someone who was so obviously oblivious to stink.

"Here", he said finally, extracting a package of bubble-wrapped pills in shiny foil, "try this."

"What is it?", Doug asked.

"It's called Rohypnol. You put it in her drink. Take her someplace quiet after that, and I can guarantee that you two will become 'more then friends'."

"Roofies!", Skeeter burst out, unable to contain himself, "You can't give him roofies, man, he's thirteen! What are you thinking?"

Doug considered the package, realising now that he was looking at date rape drugs.

"You really think that this will work?"

"Doug, you aren't seriously considering this, are you? What he is suggesting is _wrong_, just like I was wrong for bringing you here. You're not doing this because I won't let you. We're going." He ripped the package out of his friend's hands and began to pull him away from the table. Deeter didn't seem to notice that they were leaving, he just snorted another line of coke and leaned back in his chair.

"Open the closet", he said, when they were almost out the door.

"I'm sorry?", said Skeeter, annoyed.

"Open the closet. It's right next to you."

"No, I don't think we'll be opening any closets. We're just going to lea-", Skeeter had began, but Doug cut him off by pulling the knob and opening the door. They both stopped dead at what they saw.

The closet was covered in photographs, evidence of Deeter's sexual conquests. There were girls tied up in belts, girls wearing handcuffs, girls in lace with pubes sticking out from behind their panties, and various combinations of these. Some were asleep, you could see that, and the thought of what that meant made Doug shudder, but the vast majority were awake, smiling playfully at the camera. Deeter had known a lot of girls, and what was even more surprising, a lot of them had known him.

"You mean that you-"?

"Yeah," Deeter replied, "every single one of them".

"But I thought that you used...?" Doug gestured offhandedly to the bundle of pills that still lay on the table, not wanting to take his eyes off of what he was looking at.

"I did, at first – to learn. But after I loosened up it wasn't such a big deal anymore."

Doug was silent at this. He didn't know what to do. He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn't argue with the results - they were right in front of his face. The thought of doing the same to Patti Mayonnaise was giving him a shy, teenaged boner.

"Here", said Deeter, walking up to him and placing the package firmly into his hand, "Just take it. I'm not going to ask you to pay for it right now. Think of it as a free trial offer- if you don't use it then you can just bring it back here in a week, no questions asked."

"No Doug, you're not doing it. This isn't right, man.", Skeeter said, reaching for the pills. Doug brushed him off and put them in his pocket.

"Why are you doing this for me?", he asked Deeter.

"Because", the stoner replied, a twisted smile on his lips, "I think that you are going to become a very good customer."


	3. Mouse Bones and Orange Juice

**Mouse Bones and Orange Juice**

Doug put the pills next to an old jar of bleached white mouse bones that he kept on his shelf. The bones were a recent addition: he had vague memories of him as a child finding them in the garage and feeling frightened, but he had for some reason warmed up to them enough so that when his mother suggested they throw them out had taken them for his room instead. Something that played at the edge of his consciousness told him that the two items should go together.

He still wasn't sure if he was going to use the drugs or not, and so he lay down in his bed to think about it. Sure, they were guaranteed to work, and he knew that he would enjoy their effects, but maybe Skeeter was right, maybe they _were_ wrong. And, he told himself, there was always the outside chance that he wouldn't need the drugs, that maybe Patti wanted same thing that he did...

A sound jolted him out of his thoughts: the phone was ringing. He reached over and picked it up. There was a too familiar voice on the other end. It was Patti.

"Hey, Doug?" she asked. He swallowed his heart and stammered out an answer.

"Y-yes?" he replied.

"Hey, I'm glad that I caught you. You see, we're holding a surprise birthday party for Beebe on Friday, and we were wondering if you could come."

"A party? Yeah, sure." Doug didn't really like Beebe, but any chance to see Patti was worth it, he thought.

"Great. Try and be there for eight." She paused. "...and Doug?" She sounded hesitant, nervous, so unlike Patti. His heart rose and fell at the same time, struggling to get some sort of bearing inside his heaving chest. He knew that something was up.

"Yeah?" There was silence from the other end; the only sound he could hear was her soft breathing. He knew that her next words would change his life forever.

"Uh, do you think that Skeeter is going to come? I'd really like to see him there."

Skeeter. Of course. Why hadn't he seen it before? He was stupid to think that he'd ever have a chance with Patti. If he wanted her he would have to take charge, be forceful. He would need the drugs.

"Sure, I'm positive that he will go. In fact, he's coming over here later tonight if you want to hang out." It wasn't an outrageous lie, they were best friends, after all.

She said she would love to. The excitement in her voice sickened him.

He was getting more and more used to the idea.

Doug was ready when she came; everything had been planned to the last detail. He only hoped now that his performance would not be so marred by eagerness that Patti might clue into the situation.

The doorbell. He gave himself a once over in the mirror before answering, needless considering the circumstances, but he felt that it was better to check, just in case. He would give her one more chance.

He opened the door. She looked amazing. Doug was momentarily stunned, taken aback by her beauty. It took him a minute to regain his composure. _Of course she looks good, _he told himself, _she thinks that she is going to see Skeeter_.

"It's just us for now," he said, "Skeeter should be here soon." She didn't look too impressed with that information, she seemed almost disappointed, in fact. Doug interpreted this as meaning that she was already tired of his company, that she was going to make the situation needlessly awkward because of it. That didn't make him very happy.

"Would you like a drink while we wait?" he asked her, gesturing towards the kitchen.

"Thanks. I'd love one."

"Is orange juice cool? Or a Coke, maybe?" He hoped that she didn't ask for something clear, like water or Sprite – he was worried that the roofies wouldn't dissolve so untraceably in that.

"Orange juice sounds fine," she smiled.

"Great," he smiled back. "Why don't you go wait in my room, and I'll be right up with the drinks," he finished, pointing up the stairs.

She left, and he went to work. He moved quickly, spilling some of the orange juice and the ground Rohypnol, which he had prepared earlier, onto the counter, concentrating on getting the drug to dissolve as clearly as he could manage. He didn't bother cleaning up when he was done.

He found her inspecting the jar of bones on his return, a look of curiosity on her face.

"What was this?" she asked.

"A mouse," he replied, putting down her drink.

"Poor thing. How did it get in there?"

"It was my Dad's. From when he was about my age, I think."

"God, I would hate to be in a jar like that. Everyone staring at my mangled bones for thirty years after I died."

"It's just a mouse," he said, taking a long sip of his drink and hoping that he wasn't making too big of a deal about it.

She took a sip of her orange juice too. He tried to pretend like he wasn't paying much attention, but he watched her closely the whole time.

"Hey, this is good! I've never had it quite like this before," she said.

"Funnie family recipe," Doug replied, smiling.

"Well it's very – oh! Sorry about that!" her drink tumbled to the ground, managing to spill all over Doug in the process. She was already losing motor control. It was happening much faster than he could have hoped.

"I don't know what came over me – one minute I was holding the drink, and the next..." There was shame in her eyes. Doug put his hand on her shoulder.

"Hey- don't worry about it. I'll just go clean up. It's just a little orange juice, no harm done."

He left for the bathroom and she sat on the bed. He ran the tap.

She spoke through the open doorway: "I'm really glad that you invited me here," she said, "even if Skeeter is coming." A pause as she listened to him wash up. "Doug, there's something else that I wanted to ask you on the phone today, only that I didn't have the courage to do it then. I really like you, Doug, and ... and I was..." she fell back on the bed, unconscious.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he said, coming into the room as he finished wiping his hands dry. "I couldn't hear you over the sound of the water running."

He stopped and looked at her more closely.

"Patti? Can you hear me, Patti?" She could not.

He walked over to the door and closed it, a thin smile playing upon his lips. He would have to remember to thank Deeter.


End file.
